Pirate Sherlock Drabbles
by temporarythings
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, the feared captain of the pirate ship "Deduction", most feared vessel on the seven seas. A collection of small drabbles featuring pirate!Sherlock
1. Molly the Lookout

**AN:** So I originally had these published to my tumblr, convivialcompanions, but my theme is not very good for reading long paragraphs of text, so I'm redirecting my stories here. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Molly Hooper has become the lookout aboard the <em>Deduction<em>, a ship captained by the infamous Sherlock Holmes. However, looking down at the deck below she gets a little, _distracted_, and the memories of her journey to the ship resurface.

Molly looked down from her post as look-out aboard the _Deduction_ towards the deck below. Or, more specifically, towards Captain Sherlock. She knew she was supposed to be watching for Moriarty, the leader of the British Navy and the only man capable of finding the famed pirate's ship on such a night, but she couldn't help herself. There was just something about the Captain that held her attention and refused to let it go.

As a small girl, Molly had never been the type to sit around, always darting off looking for a new adventure. Her interest in dead animals made her an oddity in her small seaside village, and she grew up alone except for the friends in her imagination. When she was older and the pirates started coming, she learned how to figure out what weapon a man had been killed with by the shape and depth of his wound, how long he'd been dead, how much he had bled, if he had suffered any pain. Despite the constant raids, there wasn't much adventure to be had in St. Bartholomew, and so when the infamous pirate Captain Sherlock came to pillage her small sea-side village, intent on discovering a coded clue in the mayor's vault that would lead him to a famed treasure chest, she saw a golden opportunity.

She knew it was going to be difficult to gain access to Sherlock's ship. The fact that she was a girl would not be the issue. Captain Sherlock cared not about the gender of his crew. His cook was a woman by the name of Hudson, and there were a fair share of cut-throat lasses among his fighters. No, it was the fact that the pirate had standards that each crew member mad to meet, standards of intellect, and Molly knew that even though she was considered one of the brightest in her town, her knowledge would pale in comparison.

Stowing away wasn't an option; the captain's eyes were sharp as a hawk and noticed any disturbance aboard his ship within seconds of it occurring, and there were many stories about stowaways on the_Deduction_ being left on an island in the middle of the sea to perish when time allowed. There was only one stowaway that Sherlock had ever kept alive, and that was John Watson, who was made the Captain's first mate on account of his history as a Naval Officer; his knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of their ships.

Molly had hidden during the initial fighting in the streets, the fighting that was over for the people of the village before it had really begun. Captain Sherlock was like that. The moment you glimpsed his ship in your harbour, it was too late for you to do anything but accept your fate.

The battle was loud and violent but short-lived. Sherlock was nothing if not efficient. Molly watched from behind a barrel in an alleyway as he drove his weapon through a man, Tom the baker by the look of the silhouette, and then dashed around the corner. When the clap of his boots on the cobblestones could no longer be heard, she came out from behind the barrel to study the corpse in the street. She knelt on the ground and felt blood soak through her dress and wet her knee. She studied the wound in Tom's stomach, very deep, not that wide and muttered to herself "I didn't know he used a rapier."

"What did you say?"

Molly whipped her head around to stare wide eyed at the shadow behind her, a shadow that struck fear into the hearts of every peasant in this part of the Atlantic Ocean.

"It's just… the stories… the survivors say that you prefer a cutlass, but you… you killed To- this man, with a rapier."

Sherlock's eyes never left her face as he took three slow steps toward her.

"Yes, I did kill him with a rapier, very good. But how did you know? It was dark, you were behind the barrel where the shadows were thickest so you could be hidden the best however that also meant that the moon was at my back meaning that you couldn't see my face or my sword because it was in front of body in a shadow so how did you know it was a rapier?"

"The… the wound… the slash is too narrow to be a cutlass, but just the right circumference for a rapier."

"Hm." Sherlock drew level with her, studying her face. Then he smiled grimly. "You'll do."

Suddenly Molly found herself upside down over the shoulder of one John Watson, being carried off to the ship that had been her home now for the past seven months. Seven months of boredom, that was what Captain Sherlock had saved her from, seven months of staying at home and pining for adventure. He took her away from that and had given her the seven most horrifying, dangerous,_exciting_ months of her entire life. How could she not fall in love?

Molly shook her head. That was enough reminiscing. Looking back on her past did nothing to help her current situation, which was that she was Molly the lookout, the girl who never in a million years stood a chance with a man like Captain Sherlock. She sent one last fleeting glance down below at the captain studying his maps out on deck by lantern light, and then raised her head and slowly turned in a circle.

And then she froze.

Because that silhouette had not been on the horizon fifteen minutes ago.

And that silhouette was flying a Union Jack.

* * *

><p>Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!<p> 


	2. Elementary, First Mate Watson

**AN:** Some Watson in this chapter, because there was a distinct lack of John in the last.

* * *

><p>"Captain, with all due respect, I don't see anything here except for a lot of mist."<p>

"Watson, what have I told you about doubting me?"

"That it's idiotic and may be grounds to make me walk the plank?"

"Precisely."

Captain Sherlock turned on his heel and began walking towards the port side of the ship, his figure almost completely disappearing into the thick fog.

"Yes," said Watson, scurrying after, "But you even said yourself that there were two possible locations that the clue from St. Bartholomew was leading you to. _Two_ places, and when you went to talk to Lord Lestrade about it in London, he didn't even give you a straight answer. You just told him your assumptions, and then waltzed on out the door. The crew didn't think we were really leaving until we were more than a league out to sea." The first mate stopped as he almost ran into the Captain whose frantic walking had come to a halt and leaned on the railing next to him.

"Look, all I'm saying is, there's nothing here. No one has ever _seen_ anything here, no records or anything. No islands or trading posts or ancient shipwrecks, so how do you know that this is the right spot when Lestrade told you nothing?"

"He may not have told me anything, but he gave me all the information I needed to know. Eyes off the deck and onto the horizon, Molly. You're the only thing that's keeping us from crashing into a sandbank. _Please_ don't make me regret putting you on lookout duty." The pirate threw over his shoulder as he resumed his pacing towards the captain's quarters at the bow of the ship. Watson glanced up towards the top of the mast in time to see Molly duck back into the crow's nest, cheeks tinged scarlet before setting off after Sherlock.

"What do you mean, he gave you information? He didn't talk! The only person saying anything that say was you!"

The captain turned on his heel abruptly, putting his face inches from John's. "And tell me, First Mate Watson, what was Lestrade doing while I was speaking?"

Watson frowned as the memories from the day resurfaced. "Well not much, seeing as you had your sword at his throat."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "So, he wasn't struggling?"

"No… well, he might have been trying, but you had him pinned against the wall."

"Pinned against the walls by his wrists. Elementary, First Mate Watson," Sherlock turned on his heel again, continuing his walk expecting Watson to follow him as he always did and as he would do today. "My right hand was holding my sword, but my left is the one that was important. It was on Lestrade's pulse point. So you see, he didn't have to say anything. All I had to do was mention the name of the two places that the code was possibly leading us to. When I mentioned that we were thinking of heading in a direction that would bring us to the southernmost tip of the coast of the coast of Africa, Lestrade didn't bat an eyelash. He also seemed unconcerned when I added that we might take a brief detour up to the Northern Western Coast of America to do some pillaging, however as soon as I mentioned the continent his pulse sped up. Increase in pulse means increase in nerves. He knew I had figured it out, but he didn't want to show it." Sherlock gave a brief chuckle as he reached the door to his cabin.

"That… that's ingenious Captain, brillia- what's so funny?" Watson questioned as he reached the pirate in time to hear his quiet laugh.

Sherlock drew a key from the inside pocket of his coat. "I always find it amusing when people believe that they can deceive me." He stated as he slipped the key into the lock.

Watson smiled in amusement, but then frowned as a question crossed his mind. "Captain, why are you going into your cabin? Shouldn't you stay out here so you can look for your island or shipwreck or whatever treasure of yours is going to be on?"

"No Watson," Sherlock sighed as he opened the cabin door. "I need some peace and quiet so I can think."

"Think about what?"

"About the best and most efficient way to defeat the three British Navy ships that have been following us for the past forty leagues."

Watson whipped his head around, searching for the silhouettes of the ships, but failed to see anything through the dense mist.

"How do you know- no, on second thought Captain, never mind." First Mate Watson smiled to himself as he walked back towards the bow of the ship while Sherlock slipped inside his cabin. He would ask his Captain about that another time; he had enough explanations for one day.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Reviews always appreciated.<p> 


	3. Battle Deductions

**AN:** Finally, some real-time deductions by the infamous captain himself.

* * *

><p>Captain Sherlock stepped of the gangway of the <em>Deduction <em>and onto the wooden planks of the dock. The rest of the crew filed off the ship quickly and quietly and lined up in front of their captain. As the warning bell began to sound, Sherlock turned to face the other pirates and began to speak.

"Spread out and subdue the villagers as quickly as possible. This settlement is far north, they are not often raided by pirates and many of the men will think they can fight us off." The pirate paused to allow a smirk to cross his face. "They are sadly mistaken. Once the townspeople have submitted we shall collect supplies and be off. I want this done efficiently and effectively. I plan to hoist anchor by morning. Now go!"

The crew quickly drew their swords and dispersed throughout the streets bordering the docks.

"Watson!"

The first mate paused in the mouth of a street and turned back towards his captain.

"I want you doing regular rounds to check on the crew. If anyone is injured, bring them back to the ship. I do not want to lose a single man tonight. "

Watson gave a quick salute before dashing into the shadows. Then Sherlock drew his own sword and took the street he knew would lead him directly to the mayor's house.

The fighting had been going on for at least a quarter of an hour, and it was clear that Sherlock's men were winning, taking more of the town as they increased their distance from the docks. The pirate captain was fighting three men in an alley way at the end of which he could see the mayor's house. Sherlock knew that with a sword at the throat of their leader, many of the men would lay down whatever weapons they had with little hesitation. The captain ducked underneath the sword of one of the townsmen, kicked out with his left foot and held the sword blade towards the sky in front of him.

His kick to his opponent's shin quickly brought the man to his knees, and after straightening slightly and bringing the pommel of his sword down on the man's skull, his challenger lay unconscious at his feet. He quickly dispatched of the other two townspeople with little hassle, and began to cross the street that would lead him to the mayor's front door.

Suddenly, Sherlock heard the click of boot on cobblestone and turned around while raising his sword so that it was parallel to the ground, effectively blocking the blow of another sword. Sherlock quickly disengaged his blade and back up a pace to allow himself a good look at his new opponent, a man in a red jacket. He felt his eyes wander over the man, making observations as quickly as a bullet flies from gun to target.

_Male. Around 30 years old. Calluses on right hand but not on left. Right handed swordsman. British Navy jacket, but a darker red than the modern ones. Jacket has been discontinued, at least five years old. Man took his leave. No. The sleeves are wrinkled. Navy officers keep their jackets pressed and folded but he doesn't. No fond memories of time in Navy then. Probably discharged… most definitely discharged. He is a right handed swordsman yet is stance is that of a left handed one. Left leg was injured in battle and he couldn't continue to fight. He wanted to though, resisted, so he was forcefully discharged. Threw the jacket in the bottom of a trunk or closet or cupboard in anger where it had stayed until today. He took it out because he thought the sight of a naval officer would scare us. How cute. Right handed swordsman with left handed stance means he is unbalanced. Easily defeated if I strike on his left side._

And with that last thought, a mere five seconds after the first, the captain fainted to the right side of the man in front of him, causing him to shift his right foot in order to bring his sword up to counter the attack. Sherlock then whipped his sword around and struck the man on his left side with the flat of his blade, winding the man and causing him to drop his sword. Sherlock then struck the man on his temple with the pommel of his sword and he sank to the ground.

Captain Sherlock stepped over the body and continued making his way towards his destination, catching a glimpse of his first mate walking in the shadows, helping to support someone who was limping on one leg. He would have to attend to that later.

He reached the mayor's house and turned the handle on the door, unsurprised to find it locked.

_Oak door. About four inches thick. Single deadbolt. Weak point about three inches from the center to the left_.

The captain aimed his kick with precision and the door flew open to reveal a man in a robe and slippers cowering in a chair in the main sitting area.

Sherlock crossed the room in two strides and put his sword to the man's throat. The man's face turned white as a sheet but he still managed to stammer:

"What- what are you d-doing? I'm n-not the mayor. I'm j-just his servant!"

"The silver embroidery on this robe would suggest different. Do you really expect me to believe that in this small northern town a servant would have enough money to pay for such a thing? Now, Mr._Mayor_, you are going to stand up, we are going to go outside, I am going to have my sword at your throat and the townspeople are going to surrender."

The man in the robe gulped but made no move to rise. Sherlock leaned in even closer to the man's face and said very quietly while applying the slightest bit of pressure on the sword:

"Did you understand? Or do you need me to say it slower?"

* * *

><p>Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!<p> 


End file.
